All Around Me
by Radically-Red
Summary: Scenes of war.


_A/N: I am home with a head cold, so I'm bored. Sue me. No, really. I was listening to Flyleaf's 'All around me' acoustic whilst writing this, so you might feel the need to listen to it too. I don't own it._

**All Around Me  
**

Charlie is sitting by himself. There is no expression on his face, as he watches the hordes of people crowding the beds of the deceased. He wishes to go and see Bill, but the Death Eaters made sure there were no remnants of his big brother left. He sits still, as if waiting for someone to some to his rescue and tell him what to do. He realises with a start he is now the oldest, and expected to be a shoulder to cry on. Quite frankly it scares him. 

Luna is standing on the Head Table, looking at the imaginary sky. She doesn't speak because she simply has no words to say. People walk past her, watching her, but Luna keeps her bright eyes on the sky. Watching what? Nobody knows.

Minerva McGonagall is handing out calming draughts to the hysterical criers. She needs something to do to keep her mind off the bloodshed she has seen too much of. She pauses for a moment, and then takes a vial of the draught for herself.

Neville is sitting by the door of the Great Hall, his back to the wall. In his bleeding hands is the hilt of the bloodied Gryffindor Sword. He didn't want to be the one to end this war, but he, as usual, has no choice. Voldemort's dirty blood mingles with Neville's pure blood. That would be a bad thing if he really cared about his stupid pure blood. He swears to himself if he had a choice, he would trade his magic for his parents. But he doesn't have a choice, and he never will.

George is standing still. He is looking in a mirror, at himself. He remembers the eyes of the twin he will never see again, then realises his dead twins' eyes are his eyes. George drops the mirror like its burning and it smashes. _7 years bad luck_ he thinks as a red rimmed eyes swivel round to glare at him. He glares back and walks over to join Charlie. He's never liked being alone.

Ginny is sitting behind the Head Table, Luna's shadow falling by her feet. Tears roll down her cheeks as she clutches her stomach. She cries for her first love, the Wizarding World's 'Golden Boy'. She cries for her unborn baby. She cries because of what people, especially her mum, will say. She cries because she doesn't know what else to do.

Seamus isn't sure where he is, but he thinks he's under the Head Table, and that's fine with him: he's too drunk to care. He takes a swig from a brandy bottle he found in his trunk. His hair is all over the place, and he has no shirt on, exposing all the cuts he acquired during the battle. He looks at the brandy, and then pours some over the half-healed lines of red. Ignoring the burning pain, he takes another swig. Seamus is done caring.

Mrs Weasley is leaning over her sons, Ron, Fred and Harry. She reminds herself Harry isn't really her son, but it hurts just as much. Her flaming hair is all over the place, as she smoothes down her sons' hair. Her cheeks are aflame with emotion, and her sons' are deathly pale. She wishes that she could actually see Bill, but beggars can't be choosers, she would have to deal with 3 out of four sons returned. 

Mr Weasley is rubbing his wife's back, but she doesn't register him until she turns round and buries her head into his shoulder.

The Malfoy's are seated Draco has his mother on one side of him and his father on the other. They are whispering to each other. His mother's nails dig into his forearm. He looks over at Hermione, she looks a mess. Her hair is falling out of the messy bun she put it in before the battle, her black shorts are covered in dirt and her t-shirt is torn. Yet he thinks she's never looked better.

Hermione looks around at the wreckage. The first thing she sees is blood. Lots of it. Gagging and forcing bile back down her throat, she looks up. The ceiling is pale, expressionless, and almost boring compared to the once magnificent hall. She takes a few deep breaths and turns a full circle of the hall, and spots the lifeless bodies of her two best friends. She shuffles over to them and kneels by Ron. Her hand hovers hesitantly by his; she can feel the cold radiating of him. She places her hand on his and laces her fingers through his. She gently squeezes his hand, praying to a God she doesn't trust for him to respond.


End file.
